Park Bench
by jmr27
Summary: Sam is having a hard time making it across the country to get to school, when Bobby finds him sleeping on a park bench. Set just after Sam has left for Stanford. Bobby continues to fill in for Sam's absent father during the Stanford years.
1. Chapter 1

Park Bench

(Set after the graphic novel "Beginning's End" just after Sam has left for Stanford. Sam is having a hard time making it across the country to get to school, when Bobby finds him sleeping on a park bench. Short story, just a little what-if. Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters!)

The spring night was chilly and still, giving the feeling of a moment preserved in a glass globe. The scent of flowers, so full and cloying in the warm afternoon, was dying, and dew sprang out of the ground to moisten all surfaces. Flowers curled inward against the evening chill and all was quiet but for the vague hum of traffic in the background as the last few late-night workers headed home for sleep.

Bobby didn't pay much attention to any of it as he patrolled the park, eyes narrowed and senses sharp for any sound. There'd been three deaths in this park in one month, all homeless men sleeping on the benches now that the weather had turned, allowing the shelters to kick them out of their limited space. Bobby had a flashlight tucked in his belt, but he didn't use it, instead letting his ears do the work. Light would only give the werewolf and easy target.

He heard a soft rustling noise and turned to see a lumpy bundle lying on a bench bathed in the artificial glow of a streetlight. Tonight's most likely target shifted under his blanket; the lucky fellow had a real sleeping bag instead of a sheet of newspapers or tarp. Bobby paused for a moment, considering. It was the perfect trap; stake out the bench and wait for the werewolf to attack.

Bobby shook his head. Some hunters, Bobby could name one in particular, might do that kind of thing without a second thought. Bobby had baited traps before, but always with someone armed, aware, and conscious. He sighed and moved toward the bench.

The tousled head of hair shifted at the sound, and by the time Bobby had his hand on the young man's shoulder, he was already blinking into wakefulness. He turned his face toward Bobby, mumbling, "I know, no loitering. Sorry officer, I'll move."

Bobby stared. He knew that face, that voice. He'd dealt with the boy's morning grumpiness many times. But he'd never expected to find him sleeping like a homeless person on a park bench. "Sam?"

"Yessir, moving." Sam's voice was thick with sleep. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes and shook his head like a wet dog trying to shake of a clinging dream. He sat up, and blinked in surprise. "Bobby? Is that really you?"

"Yeah, son, it's really me. What are you doing out here, Sam? John's not using you for bait, is he?"

"Bait?" Sam's eyes shifted to the rifle in Bobby's hand, and his face fell. "There's a hunt here?"

"Yeah. How'd your dad miss that? Been three attacks so far, all homeless men sleeping in the park, found with their hearts missing."

"Oh. I didn't pay any attention to the news. I'm not hunting anymore."

Bobby took in the sleeping bag and the duffle tucked under the bench, then fixed Sam with a piercing stare. "Sam, why are you out here?"

Sam rubbed his face and yawned. "I was sleeping." Bobby just waited. "Dad and I had a fight. I left. I'm trying to get to California before the fall semester starts." Sam steeled his shoulders and set his jaw in his most stubborn expression. "I'm going to college."

A warm smile filled Bobby's face. "That's great. Congratulations." He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Wait, how are you going to pay for it?"

Sam fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a crinkled letter. "I don't have to, I got a full ride."

"Well, I always knew you were smart." Pride was chased away by a familiar jealous anger, and Bobby scowled. "John wouldn't even give you a ride there? Where'd you two split up?"

"New York."

Bobby whistled. "Well, you sure picked a fine time to pick a fight. Couldn't have waited until closer to August, or sometime when you were at least on the other side of the Rockies?"

"You weren't there Bobby, he-"

Bobby held up a hand. "Hold on, I'm sure you didn't plan it this way. What's your plan? Hitchhiking and picking pockets cross-country?"

Sam scowled at his toes. "I wanna go straight, Bobby. No hunting and no stealing."

Sam had always been too gentle-hearted for the lifestyle his father had chosen. Bobby patted the back of the bench. "Well, that explains your choice of bed. Come on. Get your stuff. My car's about a block away, and I've got a room at a motel back by the highway."

Sam straightened, beaming. "Really? Thanks Bobby."

"Oh, don't thank me yet. You'll earn your keep." Bobby nodded to his rifle. "I've got another one in the trunk."

"Bobby I-" Sam started, then paused and took a deep breath. "Yeah, ok. One more hunt."

Bobby waited while Sam bundled up his sleeping bag and slung his duffle over his shoulder. In the sounds of rustling fabric he almost missed the soft thud of running feet in the grass behind him.

"Down!" Bobby shouted, and Sam immediately flattened himself against the pavement. Something large whooshed over the heads and landed with a thud two feet from Bobby's nose.

It was a large specimen; he had weighed at least three hundred pounds as a man, and now with added muscle and fangs from the change, this werewolf was the largest Bobby had ever seen. It landed lightly on its feet and spun around to face them, eyes glowing in the lamplight, saliva dripping from its mouth.

Bobby rolled to get his gun into firing position, but Sam was quicker. He jammed a long knife into the werewolf's leg. It howled and staggered backwards. Bobby levered his gun into position and fired. The first round hit the shoulder, but the second hit the heart dead center. The creature whimpered, and toppled.

Both hunters scrambled to their feet and inspected the body to make sure the werewolf wasn't getting up again. Satisfied, they stepped back to take stock of the damage.

"Ow." Sam put a hand on his shoulder and it came away wet with blood. "I think it got me."

Bobby inspected the gash. "Yeah, just a scratch, must've clipped you with its claws. Nothing that will get you out of finishing the job." Bobby nodded meaningfully at the body. Sam sighed, a wordless whine, and rolled the corpse onto his shoulders for transport to Bobby's trunk.

Bobby stepped outside the motel room, phone in hand. He'd patched up Sam's shoulder and the boy was already fast asleep. Bobby could barely remember a time when he had felt that young, free of constant aches and able to fall asleep anywhere.

Bobby yawned. He was ready for sleep too, although it might take a little longer to come. First, he had a call to make. The phone beeps as he dialed, and then a gravelly voice answered.

"Bobby? What's wrong?"

The way they had parted last time, the man on the other end knew that the only reason Bobby would call him was if the world was about to end.

"John Winchester, why did I find your son sleeping on a park bench?" Bobby wished he could make his voice as effortlessly intimidating as John. But the words just seemed to bounce of the other man, every time.

"Is Sam ok?" No regret, no apology, just business as usual.

"Yeah, he's fine, no thanks to you. Almost got eaten by a werewolf."

"He knows better than that." Disapproval oozed out of John's tone.

"He wouldn't have been in danger at all if you hadn't sent him off on his own. What were you thinking?"

Silence. It was more maddening than any excuse.

"Oh, that's right, you weren't thinking. You two never do, just let your hot heads run wild and let everyone else pick up the pieces later."

"He's on his way to college, Bobby." There was a crack in John's voice. "He's not hunting anymore. I can't—I can't stop."

"One day, John, you just might regret this." Bobby sighed and pushed away a mental image of shooting John in the butt with a round full of buckshot. As satisfying as that might have been, the opportunity was long past. Bobby settled into bed, wondering what trouble the Winchester's would bring to him next.

Sam stayed a week before he made any move to pack his bags and hit the road again. The boy was clearly exhausted and Bobby didn't blame him. It was hard to get good sleep in the back of a semi, or on a park bench.

He brought it up over breakfast. Bobby had bought real groceries; they had toaster waffles and syrup instead of his usual coffee and leftover beans.

"I probably ought to head on out. I've got a lot of ground to over before the semester starts in August." Sam was working on his second stack of waffles; he could eat an entire box by himself every morning, and today he was eating as if he could store the excess in his stomach for the trip ahead.

"You need to be there on August 14 for orientation, right?" Bobby laid an envelope on the table between them, with the image of an airplane on the front.

Sam stared, mouth dropping open. "Bobby, I—" His fingers hovered over the flap, and he peeked inside. Two tickets stared up at him, dated for August 13. "Bobby, I can't take this."

"Sure you can. I could use a vacation at the beach, and you could use a lift."

Sam blinked and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. Bobby didn't mention the moisture he saw there. He could only imagine how lonely the last few weeks had been for Sam, and how lonely it would feel to be the only Freshman moving in without any family to help him, or see him off.

Bobby allowed himself a brief moment of regret for the children he had never had. He couldn't change the past, but he could take advantage of this.

"I can always use an extra hand around here. How about you stay for the rest of the summer, work the scrap yard with me, and we'll both go to Palo Alto come August."

Sam swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah, Bobby, that sounds good."

Sam stood in line at the dormitory mail desk, the yellow delivery card in his hand.

It was December and Christmas was coming, but Sam didn't miss the fact that there was no snow one bit. He was too busy to pay at attention to holidays, with finals week starting tomorrow. All week he had watched friends open care packages from home, full of sweets and cards and warm wishes.

Sam had known he wouldn't receive anything like that. And then the little yellow card had appeared in his mailbox, and he joined the line of anxiety-ridden students giddy with stress and hope as they waited. Sam had no idea what to expect when he stepped up to the window and was given a box wrapped in brown paper and twine, a Sioux Falls postage stamp in the corner. Sam smiled. He should have known.

Brady nudged his arm. "Hey, Sammy, whatcha got?"

"Don't know yet. But you aren't stealing any of it!" Sam shoved Brady away and escaped to his room. Thankfully, his roommate was out right now, so Sam could open the box in peace.

There were no homemade cookies or other treats in this box, but there was a shiny Visa gift card, a coat in his size, and a bottle of eggnog tied with ribbon to a half-decent bottle of whiskey.

Tucked under everything was a card, sticky on the bottom just like the grimy surface of Bobby's kitchen table. Inside was a picture of Bobby in a Santa hat standing in front of a bushy pine tree set up in his living room. "I hear the dormitory closes for the holidays. You can stay here anytime you want. Good luck on your finals, not like you need it."

There weren't any Xs or Os or anything sentimental, there didn't need to be. Sam felt a warmth blossom in his chest he thought he had lost for good, during those sleepless nights on the road alone. Dad might have thrown him out, but he still had a family.

He would never have to sleep on a park bench again.

Brady poked his head around the dorm room door. "Hey, Sam! My best buddy!" He paused when he saw the contents of the box, and his face broke into a giant grin. "Man, that is the best care package ever!" He quickly shut the door, eyes fixed on the whiskey. "You know you can get kicked out if the RA sees that, right?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "What, are you offering to hide it for me?"

"Sure." Brady held out his hand, but Sam held the package out of reach.

"I think I can handle it, thanks. But spread the word, the after finals party is on me!"

End

Please review and let me know what you think! There will be another short about Sam during his time at Stanford soon.


	2. Christmas

_(I only meant this to be a one-shot, but I had a few more ideas, so here you go. There is no continuous plot here, just a few more one-shot interactions between Bobby and Sam during the Stanford years. After all, if he knew Sam was away from home, would Bobby let him spend Christmas alone in the dorms?)_

 _Achoo!_

Bobby sniffed and wiped his nose with a handkerchief. Dust danced through the air, and Bobby waved a hand in front of his face to dispel the cloud he had kicked up.

"Been too long since I've been up here."

Bobby stepped carefully through the boxes that littered the attic floor along with dead mice and bat droppings. He flashed his light over the crowded space, muttering, "I need to get this place wired with an overhead light."

He'd found the time to pour a salted iron wall into his basement and paint a Key of Solomon onto his ceiling, but he couldn't manage to find time to string a wire to a light in this old attic.

Maybe the memories here just preferred the dark. There were stacks of them, piled on top of each other in cardboard boxes. Some had no meaning anymore, the memory carried away with the death of past generations. Some were still fresh, like a bleeding wound that should be kept covered.

Bobby's grandfather had built this home, and his old toolbox still sat in the corner. There was a box full of his father's old clothes, placed here tenderly by his mother, despite the bruises covering her face which had been made by his hands. Bobby passed over all of it. So much here, looming over his head every day, haunting his thoughts until he set out on a hunt to clear his mind and kill the spirits.

There, in the corner, Bobby could see a hint of color reflected through the hand-hold in the side of a box. He lifted the lid. Christmas lights and tinsel glittered in the flashlight's beam. They were old, nearly twenty years old, and he had no idea if they would even work anymore. Underneath the lights were glass balls wrapped in soft tissue, snowflakes cut from paper by hand, and a star full of cheap glitter.

Bobby wiped his eyes again. He remembered when Karen had brought her things to his home and unwrapped her Christmas box for the first time. She had made that star as a child, for her mother who was dying of cancer. They'd both met long after their parents were gone, so Christmas had only ever been just the two of them.

Bobby hadn't been in this attic or touched this box since that last Christmas together. A small shape caught his eye, a blotch of white among the red and greed decorations. Two small baby booties, still attached to their knitting needles. Karen had been working on them while Bobby took down the tree that last year together. Always hopeful, she had been.

He'd gotten a vasectomy before their marriage, but hadn't told her. She only found out after a bad cut sent him to the doctor for stitches and antibiotics, and the nurses and let Karen read his chart. She hadn't spoken to him for a week. Then she had died.

Bobby reached down to touch the baby booties, and wondered if anything would be different if he hadn't denied her children? Would she still be with him? Or would there just have been one more dead body that night?

Bobby pulled the booties out of the box and set them aside. They would just bring up awkward questions, and he had a guest to get ready for. Bobby hoisted the box, but his elbow knocked the lid off of another box as he was lifting and turning.

"Balls!" Bobby set the Christmas decorations back down and bent to snatch the lid off the floor. He paused, staring at the contents of the open box. Karen's face stared up at him, smiling from a gilded frame nestled between the folds of her favorite dress.

"Well, look at you." Bobby let his fingers travel across the smooth surface of the picture, remembering how warm her skin had been, the sound of her humming, the way the light caught in her fair hair. "You were right, you know. I should have given us a chance. You would have been a great mom."

Bobby shifted the dress and the picture until he found a string of pearls, still white and untouched by twenty years in storage. They had been a wedding gift left behind by Karen's father. She had always talked about the day she would pass them on to her own daughter, or daughter in law.

Bobby cradled the pearls in his hands, and saw a sliver money clip nestled near it. Karen had intended it for their son, or son in law. It had belonged to her father, Simon Willis. S. W.

"Well, Fate, you couldn't hint much harder if you used a brick." Bobby pulled the money clip out of the box, replaced the lid, and shuffled downstairs with his decorations.

Sam tilted his head sideways, squinting his eyes as he examined the tree. "A little to the right, no-no! Back left!" He sighed and shook his head. "I think it's just crooked."

"It looked straight before I cut it." Bobby carefully disentangled himself from the branches, and then handed Sam a string of lights. "Well, go on, I'm not tall enough to reach up there."

Sam grinned and started twining lights around the Christmas tree, Bobby providing 'constructive criticism' as he sipped on his eggnog. Frost coated the windows and the clouds were low and thick. Sam and Bobby both knew better than to hope for snow. White Christmases were nice on TV, but they made the roads a sloppy mess which meant wrecks, and cars in need of towing, which meant more work for Bobby on a day when he would rather be home.

Bobby paused, cup halfway to his lips, as he let the thought sink in.

 _I'd rather be home_.

How long since that had last been true? He glanced over at the row of phones on his wall. Could he just unplug them all for a day?

It was a tempting thought.

Sam turned from his work to see Bobby staring. "Aw, come on, what now?" His arms were tangled in lights, and he pouted just he had when he was ten. It didn't matter how tall Sam got, sometimes, Bobby wondered if the boy would ever grow up.

Bobby pointed to one of the top branches. "I think you missed a spot there."

Sam rolled his eyes, but reached up to adjust the string.

An hour later, the tree resembled an explosion of tinsel and glitter, but over half of the lights were working, nothing had caught fire, and the tree hadn't tipped over. Bobby and Sam sat back to toast their victory.

"Dean would have a thing or two to say about your handiwork there, Sam." Bobby never knew what colorful expression was going to come out of the older Winchester's mouth.

Sam grinned. "Yeah." His expression fell, and he stared into his drink. "I never wanted to leave them, Bobby. I just-Dad twists everything into this-mess." He blinked and rubbed his eyes. "I miss my brother."

"Christmas is a time for missing folks," Bobby agreed. He could remember Karen, adjusting the lights on the tree and then insisting on taking a picture before serving up Christmas dinner. "Maybe we shouldn't have done this."

"No, Bobby, this is good. It's nice. I mean, junk food, sappy music, and even stockings over the mantle. I've never had this before, you know?"

Bobby snorted. It never ceased to amaze him the things John Winchester didn't bother with, despite having two kids to provide for. Being a dad was about far more than keeping kids safe and fed. Bobby knew more than most what it shouldn't be, and in some ways, so did Sam. Maybe that was why he had always had a soft spot for the boys.

"Well, I've got us reservations at Denny's." Bobby had been determined not to feed Sam a Christmas dinner that came out of a can, but he couldn't make much sense of Karen's old cookbooks.

Sam grinned. "What would Christmas be without dinner at Denny's? I think we eat there just about every year. Nobody else is open. On year, Dad forgot Christmas was coming and we ran out of groceries the day before. We had breakfast, lunch and dinner and Denny's, because even the gas station wasn't open."

Two hours later, stuffed with turkey and potatoes, they settled by the tree again. The eggnog was just about gone and Bobby's vision was getting slightly blurry around the edges. He wasn't in danger of passing out, or forgetting the evening, but he was pleasantly mellow.

Bobby sank into his chair and gestured to the stocking on the mantle. "Well, go on then."

It never ceased to amaze Bobby how Sam's sorrowful face could brighten when he decided to smile, as he did now. "Aw, Bobby, you didn't have to get me anything," he said, but he scrambled toward the stocking as fast as any five-year old would.

Bobby shrugged. "Just a little something I had tucked away."

Sam examined the money clip, and his mouth made a round O. "Bobby, this is real silver."

"Yep. So keep it somewhere safe."

"Sure. Thanks, Bobby." Sam pulled a package, wrapped in newspaper, from under the tree where he had tucked it when Bobby wasn't looking. "Here."

Bobby stared, completely surprised. He hadn't expected anything, hadn't gotten a Christmas present since… "Thanks."

He peeled away the colorful comic strips to reveal a new hat, exactly the same size and shape as the one he wore now, only clean and without the grease smell. Bobby tossed off his old stained cap and placed the new hat on his head. "I don't know about this. Next thing you know, you'll want me to wash my hair."

Sam laughed. "Oh, I'm sure you'll break it in soon enough." He dipped his fingers in the soot near the fireplace and rubbed it into the hat. "There, better?"

"Much." Bobby nodded with satisfaction and held up his glass of eggnog. "Merry Christmas, son."

"Merry Christmas, Bobby."

The cell was just as Bobby remembered it. One cot in the corner, sink and toilet attached to the opposite wall, and a too-bright light glaring at him from the ceiling. Of course, he was always in here when he was hung-over, so the light might not be as viciously bright as he perceived.

Bobby lay on his back, pillow over his eyes, and let the combination of whiskey and beer send his thoughts into pleasant oblivion.

The jangle of keys was like the rattle of trash cans clattering against his skull. Bobby groaned and pressed the pillow to his ears, but he would not be allowed to lie in peace. The door opened with a creak, and booted feet planted themselves in the doorway. Lightweight, a woman. What was that new female deputy's name? Fabric rustled, she was probably crossing her arms.

"Bobby Singer. It's been a few years since I had you in here on Christmas."

Bobby lifted the pillow just enough to allow his words to escape un-muffled. "I was celebrating."

"Celebrating. Sure." There was a gentle tone in her voice now. Jody, that was her name.

Bobby rolled onto his side, putting his back to her.

"Come on. Nobody wants to stay here to babysit you over the holiday. I'm taking you to the truck stop for a burger, and then you're going home."

 _But I got drunk and disorderly in public on purpose_ , Bobby grumbled, but he wasn't sure that the words actually made it out of his mouth.

"Come on, up!" Jody's hand was firm on his shoulder. Bobby groaned and staggered to his feet. Jody kept her hand on his elbow as he shuffled to the door, making sure he didn't run into anything.

Twenty minutes later she deposited him and his dinner in the kitchen. She stared at the tree in the living room, the decorations waiting in their box, unused, and the stocking on the mantle.

"Expecting company?"

"No." Bobby felt himself wobble and settled in a chair at the kitchen table. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to continue my nap."

Jody set a paper cup down beside him. "Have some coffee, eat your dinner. And Merry Christmas."

The door shut with a bang, and Bobby was alone with his tree and his single stocking, still full. Bobby turned his back on the tree and ate his burger. This view was hardly any better; dirty kitchen sink, refrigerator, and out of the corner of his eye, the red message light on his phone blinked incessantly.

Bobby played the message again, even though he'd already listened to it ten times over the past week. Sam's voice, made slightly blurry by the recording, sounded happier than Bobby had ever heard it.

"Hey, Bobby, I know we had plans but…well, I told you about this girl I met. She's invited me to meet her parents for Christmas. I'll see you later. Thanks."

Bobby stared at the coffee in front of him, then at the beer he'd left sitting out before going to the bar. He hit the delete button and picked up the beer.

 **I really hate this ending, but I thought it was very realistic. Don't hate me! I am not leaving it there. At least one more chapter to come!**


	3. Ring

Dry leaves rustled in the trees and crunched underfoot, like dry bones clattering in the wind, a fitting prelude for Halloween. Every day the chill bite in the air grew sharper, a warning of the winter fast approaching.

Bobby didn't pay much attention to that sort of thing. He wore an extra layer and continued on as usual, pulling parts out of old cars and using the money to buy ammunition that would blow holes in monsters.

Today he was working on the former part of his job description, his breath fogging the window as he cursed at the door handle that did not want to come free.

"Look, you. There's a nice car not ten years old yet waiting to put you to use. You don't have to rust to death in here. Take a second chance at life."

Bobby wriggled his screwdriver under the metal covering. It still would not budge.

"Dammit! You are coming out!" Bobby wrestled with the rusted door until his thumbs hurt, then threw the screw driver across the yard, following it with a string on more colorful phrases. He reached for the WD-40, when his phone rang.

"Garth, if you can't make I a full day without asking for help, you shouldn't be a hunter." Bobby shook his head, then stopped, staring at the number displayed on the phone.

It was a California area code. Sam.

The chill air tickled the back of Bobby's neck. He hadn't heard from the boy in, what, six months? He was all wrapped up in a girl, and his new life.

Unless he'd lost the girl, or-

For a moment, Bobby had visions of a black-eyed army, surrounded by lighting and mutilated cattle, marching on Stanford. Bobby was one of the few who knew the real reason John Winchester kept hunting all those years. That demons had tired to kidnap Sam as a child. That Bobby, John and Dean all knew it was just a matter of time before they came back.

Bobby had watched the weather radar and the other signs around Palo Alto for the first six months Sam had been there. There had been nothing. All was quiet. Over ten years of Winchesters moving at the first signs of a shift in weather pattern, never in one place for more than a few weeks, Bobby had been sure the demons would take this opportunity. But they had left Sam alone so far.

Bobby flipped the phone open.

"Hey, Sam. How you doing?"

"Oh, I'm good. Real good." The voice on the other end of the line had deepened slightly since Bobby last heard it. As tall as he was, Sam was still growing. Not fully a man yet, however much he wanted to be. He sounded happy, but there was a nervous quaver in his tone that made Bobby's stomach churn.

"You keeping up with your classes?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, Bobby. Of course! I need to…I've got a great chance at a scholarship to law school. My whole future just seems to be lining up. I'll have a good job in a few years." Bobby could hear the smile in Sam's voice, and knew the dreamy look that mean the boy was picturing his girl in his mind's eye.

"Got big plans, huh?" Bobby knew the tone. He'd used it himself, when he opened his scrap yard and gotten things ready for his own girl.

"Yeah. Big. Everything's great."

"Uh-huh. Then why do you sound so nervous, son?" Bobby reached for his gun, even though whatever was bothering Sam was a five hour plane ride away.

Sam heaved a sigh. "Bobby, I need some help."

Bobby gripped the gun tighter, for all the good it would do. He wondered, briefly, if John would answer if he called, if it turned out that Sam was in trouble and Bobby too far away to help.

"Are you ok?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine, I just…I don't know how to do this, and I don't know who else to ask. If I had a normal Dad-"

Bobby tried to sift through the jumble of words, but nothing made sense. There was no mention of spirits, cold spots, werewolf, mysterious deaths, or black eyes and the smell of sulfur.

"Well, spit it out."

Sam just kept yammering. "You know Jess, I told you about her. She lives here in Palo Alto and her family isn't far. It's a nice town, I've got a chance at an internship there next summer and maybe even a job. Things are working out really great Bobby, and I don't want to wait anymore. I know she's the one and I'm going to propose." Sam stopped and drew in a deep breath, "But I need a ring."

Bobby let go of his gun and settled back in his chair, relief rolling through him. No ghosts, no ghouls, no black eyed demons waiting to spring out of the shadows. Maybe they had changed their minds. Maybe John had been wrong all along. Maybe they weren't coming back. They'd left him alone for three full years. Bobby paused to process what Sam had actually said, once he realized there was no danger, no hunt.

"A ring, huh? Sam, are you asking me for a loan?"

"What? No! Remember that summer job I told you about?"

"Yeah, working for Jessica's Dad, wasn't it?"

"Yep. Well, I saved up enough for something small. But-I don't know how to pick it out. I want to surprise her, see."

Bobby sat back and stared at the phone. "Sam, are you asking me to help you shop for women's jewelry?"

"Well, you were married. You're the only person I know who's done this before." _Besides Dad_ hung unspoken between them.

"Huh." Bobby took off his cap and scratched his head. "Well. Huh."

"Bobby? Will you help me?"

"Yeah." Bobby smiled. "I'll fly out next week, and we'll see what they've got in your price range."

Bobby close the phone and stared at it. His world had been blood and salt and beer for so long, the thought of doing something like ring shopping felt like it belonged to a different universe. Bobby remembered how nervous he'd been. He'd had his mother to help him, and she'd basically picked out Karen's ring. They all looked the same to him.

But in the end, it wasn't about getting the right ring, and it didn't matter how much it cost. It was about finding the right person, and having your family support you. Bobby left the car for another day and went to look up plane tickets.

000000000000000000000000000000

Gerald Cramer had been working at Sterling Elegance for over forty years. He spent most of his time pandering to two types of customers. First were the regulars, those rich enough to own more than one piece of genuine jewelry. He could spot them the instant they walked through the door, confident and stylish in their pricy clothing, never untidy. He could spot the other type of customer as well. Young men of all walks of life, some with a few hundred dollars saved over the course of years, some with Daddy's credit card, but all jittery with expectation. The young men shopping for an engagement ring for their young lady. Gerald had served them all, rich and poor, dressed in suits or jeans, with the same straight face and careful etiquette.

He thought, after forty years, that he had seen it all. Every type of man who might ever wish to purchase a bit of gold and diamond had walked through his door over the years.

Today, Gerald stared in astonishment as something new walked through his door. A man still covered in grease and stubble. He had a round belly and looked soft until one saw the eyes, sharp and cunning. Was that bulge under his jacket a gun?

Gerald hastily schooled his features and addressed the young man who had entered with the scruffy, gun bearing….person. Those puppy dog eyes, the tall shoulders, Gerald glanced quickly at his notes.

"Ah, Mr. Winchester! Good to see you again. Did you take my advice?" Gerald gestured to the scruffy man beside them.

Gerald had seen more men than he could count stare at the counters full of rings with no real idea what to choose. His advice to each one was the same. Bring your mother, father, someone you trust to help make the selection.

Sam grinned and clapped the scruffy man on the shoulder. "Yeah. This is Bobby. He's my… he's family. He's here to help."

Gerald let go of any hopes of shooing the strange man (and his gun) out the door, and instead ushered them both forward toward the engagement ring section.

"Well, Mr. Bobby. I have a fine selection here. These are the pieces Sam preferred last time he stopped by."

Gerald held up three rings. The Bobby person stared and scratched his head. "They all look real nice."

Gerald nodded, as he always did not matter what he thought of the choice. Always agree with the customer. "Mr. Winchester has excellent taste, sir. Of course, if you would like to think about it, you may wish to take this." Gerald handed the man a catalogue.

"Right. This looks good. Thanks."

Gerald didn't even have to shoo them away, the man took the catalogue and exited the shop as fast as possible, his younger companion following close behind.

Unobserved, Gerald allowed himself to wriggle with discomfort. "Odd, he looked like such an nice young man. Well, one can't choose one's family. Perhaps I should have advised him to bring one of the young ladies' friends." He shook his head sadly and replaced the rings in the case.

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Back at his motel room, Bobby kicked off his boots and scratched his feet. Visions of shiny jewelry danced through his head They had gone to at least five stores, all nearly identical. A stack of ring catalogues taunted him from the table. He could still hear the deafening lack-of-comment from the salesman at the last jewelry store. The man had been carefully polite, but his entire posture had screamed disapproval. Everywhere they went, the staff seemed to know instantly that Bobby did not belong.

"Sam, what have you gotten me into?" Bobby sighed and reached for the local newspaper, provided free by the front desk. Maybe he could find a nice hunt to take his mind off things.

There was a knock at the door.

"Who the hell could that be?" Bobby held his gun ready as he stared through the peephole.

A pale, skinny blond in short shorts and a low-cut white t-shirt stood on the step, twirling her hair.

"I'm pretty sure I didn't order a hooker." Bobby did not lower his gun as he opened the door, though he did keep it out of sight behind the frame.

"Can I help you, ma'am? I think you might have the wrong room."

The blonde favored him with a dazzling smile. "You must be Bobby! You look just like Sam described you. I'm Jessica." She held out her hand, and Bobby shook it carefully.

"Jessica. Oh." Bobby hastily tucked his gun out of sight, and stepped back to shift the newspaper so it covered the ring catalogue. "What brings you out here?"

"I wanted to meet you. Sam is so cagey about his family. But when he told me you gave him a place to stay, I figured if I can't talk to his Dad or brother, you're the next best thing."

Jessica stepped into the room, spotted the corner of a catalogue that Bobby hadn't managed to hide completely, and pulled it into full view. "I also wanted to fix this, before it gets too far out of control." Jessica tossed the catalogue in the trash, then rummaged in her purse and pulled out a picture, which she placed in Bobby's hand.

It was a small ring, simple in design; one tiny diamond rested inside an elegant twirl of silver that reminded Bobby of a snail shell. There was also a 'clearance' price tag attached to the band, well within Sam's price range.

"Bottom line, I'd rather spend our money on the wedding, the honeymoon, or the house, and this is just perfect, don't you think!" Jess bounced, waiting for Bobby's reaction.

"Yeah. It's lovely." Bobby tried to put as much enthusiasm into the words as possible. To him, the ring looked just like all the rest. "Well, there goes the surprise."

"Don't be silly. I will be SO surprised. Watch." Jessica dropped her gaze to her toes and her features went flat an expressionless. Then suddenly her head popped up, her eyes opened wide, and she let out a shrill squeal. "Ohmygosh! Yes, yes yes!"

Bobby wasn't sure if he should run, shoot or wait. Just as suddenly, Jessica's face went flat again. "I've been practicing. What do you think?"

"Well, I'm no theater critic, but it looked pretty convincing to me." Bobby glanced from the picture to the girl in front of him, putting the pieces together. "So, lemme get this straight. You want me to get Sam to by you this ring. But you don't want Sam to know that you picked it out. Because you want to pretend to be surprised when he proposes."

"He's working so hard to keep it a secret. I had to talk his best-friend's girlfriend's sorority sister into telling me what you two were up to! Then I had to find your motel address in his wallet, which wasn't hard after I whipped up a batch of cookies and put in his favorite movie." Jessica grinned like a cat with its paws around a wriggling mouse.

"Well, I'm not gonna pretend to understand any of that, but-wouldn't this just be easier if you went shopping with him?"

Jessica pouted. "But that would ruin the romance! Look, I gave you the name of the store, the address, their hours and everything." She flipped the picture over to show Bobby the back.

Bobby gave her a wary look. "Are you planning on being a lawyer, too?"

Jessica laughed and shook her head. "No way! I plan to be a stay-at-home wife, have three and a half kids, and bake cookies all day until we're both old and fat." She shrugged. "I'm not sure, but we both want kids and I want to stay at home with them once their born. That's more important to me than a career, and I don't care if the feminists don't like it." She shrugged. "Of course, I may do some research on the side."

"That sounds nice." Bobby's wariness melted away finally. He could see what Sam saw in this girl. She exuded warmth and kindness, something Sam had never received much of.

"So, if we split holidays between Sam's family and my family, do you prefer Christmas or Thanksgiving?"

A wave of emotion rolled through Bobby. He wasn't sure he could put a name to it, but it was more happy than sad so he didn't know why he could feel his eyes tearing up. "I-That-Either would be fine." Bobby's voice was husky. "Thank you."

"You're family. I know I monopolized Sam last year. I'm sorry about that. He was working really hard to impress my dad. But I'll make it up to you." Jessica smiled fondly, then leaned forward and kissed Bobby on the check. Bobby held perfectly still, the spot on his face tingling.

"It was nice to meet you, Mr. Singer."

Bobby grabbed her hand and kissed it. "It was lovely to meet you, Jessica."

Bobby checked the sky as she left the room. It was bright blue, with a few white fluffy clouds dotting the horizon. No sign of a storm. No demons signs in the paper.

Maybe John Winchester had been wrong all along. Bobby watched Jessica walk to her car, and he could picture three small children running behind her. He could see the little house, the white picket fence, the kids running to Sam as he came home from work, Jessica smiling and kissing him hello.

Maybe life could be normal. Maybe, if Sam didn't chase after them, the monsters would stay away.

Sam stared at the delicate ring resting in the palm of his hand, one tiny diamond resting in the center of a snail-shell curl. He'd planned to give it to her at diner, just before leaving for her family's home for Thanksgiving. The better to make the big announcement to everyone that way.

But he'd seen them several weeks earlier than he'd expected. The entire Moore family had been silent, eyes red, full of condolences, unaware of the true horror of what had happened. They thought it was a tragic accident.

Jessica would never wear this ring. He couldn't even bury it with her-there wasn't enough left. Her ashes had been lain to rest in the cemetery outside her home town.

Sam picked up the bouquet of flowers, glad that Dean had stepped away to have a drink on a bench several yards away, leaving him alone for this moment.

Sam placed the ring in the bouquet and laid it all on her grave.

"I promise you, I will find the thing that killed you."

Sam's phone vibrated in his pocket, still on silent mode, as he had set it for the funeral service. Sam checked the number, then flipped the phone open.

"Hey, Bobby." His voice cracked.

"Hey, Sam." Bobby's warm tone told Sam the other man already knew. Still, Sam found himself saying,

"Look, Bobby, Christmas this year…"

"I know what happened, Sam. I just saw. I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner, I just got done with a hunt in Georgia. I'm heading out now. Do you want me there?"

Sam wanted nothing more than to curl up on Bobby's couch and cry forever. But he shook his head and wiped his eyes. "No, that's ok. Dean is here."

"Good." Bobby's tone was fierce, as if he would have shot Dean or Dad full of buckshot if either failed to show up at this important time.

"We're going to hunt this thing down, Bobby. I have to find it, and I have to kill it."

"Revenge won't make you feel any better, Sam."

The words made no sense to the white-hot rage that was the only thing Sam could tolerate feeling right now. Feeling anything else would hurt too much. "I have to kill it, Bobby."

"Alright. Be careful. Call me if you need anything."

Some people said that merely as a pleasantry. It was a statement of solidarity and comfort with no real substance. 'Anything' really meant small, easy favors that don't take up time or effort. Many are surprised, even angry if their words are taken at face value. Hunters never say these words if they don't mean them. They know that if someone takes you up on this offer, it could mean blood, or death. You don't say these words unless you mean it.

Sam had been raised a hunter, and he knew exactly what those words meant. "Thanks, Bobby. I will."

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OK, so I've fixed a few typos. Apparently, I am incapable of finding them on my own. Maybe I should get a beta...


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